


L'envol

by Bondmaiden



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate universe - Mafia, Auctioned Kuroko, Auctions, Henchman Mayuzumi, M/M, Mob Boss Akashi, also ft the Jabberwock as bad boys, because Akashi himself is a sign of danger, ft the rest of the Rakuzan and GOM as additional henchmen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13144770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bondmaiden/pseuds/Bondmaiden
Summary: Akashi seeks to purchase a fetching piece to complete his team.Nash Gold Jr., that is his name. Frankly speaking, the only thing golden about him is his hair, but not his attitude. Mayuzumi surveys him with a judgmental narrowing of his eyes and spits out his verdict, underlined with resentment: "He's a piece of shit. Bastard's involved with human trafficking and the organ trade." Then he amends, clearly having come to his mind. The smile seizing his lips is guttural. "Let's fuck him up."





	L'envol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taikodrum (taiko)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taiko/gifts).



**THE BLACK BIDDERS** aren't going to be so friendly on him tonight.

They all know how the Black Auctions work: They'll lure you in like worm on a hook with temptations from all forms of illicit pleasures obtainable that night—as long as you have the briefcase loaded with cash to bid on the spot. After milking all cents away from your pockets, right down to your holey socks, they'll toss you out into the back alley as last night's trash. That's how the game ends, every single time.

But Akashi will be damned if he doesn't get to be the highest bidder for the Midnight Child. He either walks away with the boy, or he'll shoot the bidder who bested him.

"There he is," Mayuzumi whispers beside him, perched on the edge of his armchair to lean towards Akashi. His eyes are trained on the red-curtained stage, taking in the wave of hands already up to show interest long before the bidding even started. "That's the one you'll want for your mission."

There's not much to be discussed, not when they already came up with a plan to tackle this. All they had to do is to show up, let Mayuzumi identify their target, and bid fiercely for the night.

Akashi nods and sets his face forward, ready for the spike in prices he's willing to sacrifice. He suspects everyone gathered in this crummy basement are all here for the same thing too. They lazily bid for previous artefacts just to pass time, like buying junks from a thrift shop. Diamond-encrusted diadems plucked from dug-out corpses, oil paintings pinched from mausoleums, everything and anything went for sale. One by one, they appeared and disappeared behind unwashed curtains, getting ready to be packaged.

But it satiated little of their appetite. The final image in their mind—it was the same as everyone else's. One man even rose from his chair to stretch his limbs as though tonight's Black Auction will get physical soon. They were all looking for the same thing: the Midnight Child.

From his disadvantageous view by the corner of the room, all Akashi saw was an awkward blue-haired thing sitting in a birdcage large enough to entrap an adult, legs splayed. When he bent over, the harsh stage lights peeled off all skin from his body, punctuating the sharp slopes of his backbone and knife notches of spine. Nothing was noteworthy, nor out of place. Stripped naked with no room for modesty, he looked no better than an exhibitionist.

Well, at least an exhibitionist derived pleasure from his explicit acts.

This man, the one they called the Midnight Child, didn't seem so. He fitted the role like a vermin to a lady. Jittering from side to side at the slightest laughter, all perked up like he could foresee his exit in the sea of balding heads. Sometimes he'd strain up— _clang_ goes the shackles binding his arms, his legs, and he flops flat on his bottom, eliciting more laughter from the rest of his sick, sick audience.

But then again, Akashi sat amongst them. Then he, too, was sick in the head.

That might not be so far off after all.

 

 

**HERE'S THE PLAN:** Mayuzumi acts as the secondary bidder, and Akashi the first. Rivals outbidding one another, making it seem close to a neighbourly squabble. Slick and simple. It broadens the competition, yet lessens it. Those who witness the numbers getting thrown out into explicit ranges bordering billions would probably think twice in trying to outbid them. In reality, they acted as one; Mayuzumi is Akashi's voice, and Akashi is his own.

The host—Master, they called him, whet their appetites with tales of the Midnight Child they've heard of. "He's the shadows in your bedroom, slitting your throat the moment you lie down." His thick lips take on a savage curl as his eyes widened theatrically, just for show. "You know him, but he knows more about you than you do. And now you can have him at the starting price of 5 million Yen."

A steep price, but it's mere pocket change for Akashi.

Someone called it out before he did, but the number quickly doubled as soon as that.

"Do I have ten million?"

Ten million, called. Then it escalated to eleven, twelve, thirteen, like floor numbers in a hotel. Mere seconds ago the Midnight Child's priced at 5 million; now his body is worth 55 million Yen, all for that plastic blankness in his eyes and the flimsy excuse for his flesh. The longer it goes, the pricier he gets.

Mayuzumi's been given strict instructions not to act unless Akashi goes for it, so he waits, he waits with his heels tapping on the floor and his teeth grinding together. Tensed, tensed Mayuzumi wants nothing more than the bidding to end. Akashi understands. But good hunters wait.

Only when the numbers grind to a halt as the Host calls out, "60 million, anyone?" and silence answered him, Akashi puts his pawn on the chessboard.

He puts up his hand. The Host catches his eye, a solitary twinkle in the lightless blackness within. "We have 60 million right here, everyone. Anyone wants to try going for 65 million?"

Mayuzumi's readied himself for this act—his presence isn't worth much, but he has a voice. He says—

"80 million for that kid. Anyone wants to top that?"

—but it isn't his voice.

 

 

**NASH GOLD JR.**

That is his name. Frankly speaking, the only thing golden about him is his hair, but not his attitude. Mayuzumi surveys him with a judgmental narrowing of his eyes and spits out his verdict, underlined with resentment: "He's a piece of shit. Bastard's involved with human trafficking and the organ trade." Then he amends, clearly having come to his mind. The smile seizing his lips is guttural. "Let's fuck him up."

Akashi can't find a better phrase to accurately describe what's on his mind better than what Mayuzumi said, so he shrugs and leans into his armchair, sinking into plush goodness. Velvet underneath his fingers, leather shoes tapping thrice on the tiles. "Well said."

 

 

**MAYUZUMI'S AN ASSHOLE.**

Everyone and anyone who's worked with him would attest that he is the assholest of the assholes, and no other asshole could beat him in the game of assholery. Not only he's an asshole, he's the worst asshole anyone could ever think of meeting. He's that stranger who'd never toss a spare toilet roll into your cubicle when you've got nothing left even after you begged—that level of sheer assholery is hard to top.

So when Nash cockily called for 80 million on the Midnight Child, his throat gives a derisive cough and he tips his head back, exposing the lean column of his neck, the savage glint of his teeth. "81 million."

And that sparks World War III.

"90 million," Nash grits out from the other side of the room, sounding very much constipated on who knows what. Time, maybe.

Mayuzumi makes a show of checking his tie pin and pats it in place. "91 million."

Nash Gold Jr. isn't an unfamiliar name to Akashi. He's heard of the guy who's quick to talk with his fist than his mouth. Brute strength to deal with brute kids who resisted, he supposed. But Akashi doesn't deal with selling humans lives like commodities for the world, so crossing paths is least likely. The rumours fed him more than enough news anyway.

"120 million." Nash tries again—

"121 million."

—only to be cockblocked by Mayuzumi, who's openly (and quite rudely) checking his phone. Upon closer inspection, he's scrolling through Twitter to see the latest update on iDOLM@STER. His latest obsessions can be a bit obscene and a tad bit odd for others to witness, but Akashi figures as long as he does his job well, there's no need to call him out.

"You wanna play like kids? I'll show you how adults work." Nash's expression twists into something else. Something less promising for those who stand in his path. "300 million—"

"301 million," Mayuzumi yawns from the back of his hand, going through the Pixiv art of Kanzaki Ranko for the day.

Really, Akashi could hand this over to him and just kick back to enjoy the show. It's not like he's at the other end of Mayuzumi's assholery anyway, so there's no pressing urge to shorten this exchange. They could play this game of tossing numbers all night since they came here with over two billion cash and a whole book of cheques to spare; a few hundred millions are hardly going to dent anything in Akashi's savings.

"Are you fucking with me?" Nash shouts—several people closest to him wince, but Mayuzumi continues, undeterred, in pursuit of his idol obsession. "Hey—" there comes the snapping of his fingers, and Nash continues, "Do something about the fucker who's sitting there."

The only saving grace they have is from the Host, who's seemingly amused by their charade. From the stage, spotlight melting the cakey foundation off his sagging cheeks, he wags a finger at Nash's direction. He grins with full teeth; they are gold.

"Ah _ah,_ Sir, once you start breaking the rules of the Black Auctions, we'll rescind everyone's bidding. You don't want to face the wrath of the rest of the crowd, do you?"

 

 

**THAT'S THE STORY** of how Mayuzumi's heroic display of assholery actually won them something good for the night. Akashi barely bats an eyelash when the bid ends at one billion _something_ after Nash called for 500 million. That sum shuts him up real quick when he sees Mayuzumi hurling a black briefcase to the Host. Somewhere along the way, the clasp came loose and a burst of cash clouds the Host, swallowing his pudgy frame in thick wads of green.

Nash's jaw dislocates from its place and is probably lying on the ground after Mayuzumi pulled that party trick out of nowhere. Meanwhile, Akashi regards the scene with suspicion: Mayuzumi might have rigged the case just to amp up the dramatic flair in the room. _Go big or go home_ , he always says.

So there the Midnight Child stands, bathed under stars of spotlights and feeling the money rain down on him, forever freed from the rusty manacles binding him in place. He only gazes, transfixed, into the crowd.

Then, he smiles.

 

 

**BACKSTAGE. 1 A.M. CIGARETTES.** Mayuzumi leans against the wall, propping one foot up, smoking. His shoe leaves an imprint among the many others there. Akashi is a better man so he stands upright, spine soldier straight, clasping a steel cane in his hand. He doesn't need it and _no,_ it doesn't double as a rifle or anything like what the spy movies glorified. Momoi said he looks good with it, and their conversation died right there and then. Never disagree with the maid.

Unlike other bidders who get to haul their trophies at the front door, theirs is a special case. So when they're told to go backstage for the Midnight Child, Mayuzumi makes little effort in concealing how skittish he's become. Once he starts chainsmoking, you know something's up.

"You're hiding something," says Akashi after perusing his mental dictionary several times, unable to find a delicate synonym for 'hiding something'. "Mind sharing?"

"Just cold," he says, but his leg shakes restlessly and he's _smoking_ for God's sake. "That’s all."

That's a universal signal to drop the topic. He's not keen on providing more insight to the cryptic world in his head, just sealing his lips shut around the cancer stick and smoking away like a fogging machine. Akashi side-eyes him.

Mayuzumi Chihiro is a man of few words—well, the lesser the better since all he spoke is either sarcasm or it makes other people want to punch him. On his off days when Akashi's cleared his working roster, he'd lounge around the Headquarters with a book in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. Nothing about him is remarkable. He does his work on time and delivers goods without getting into much trouble. Perpetually _nothing_ shook his cool.

So observing him getting this agitated over the Midnight Child, hearing weeks on end about convincing Akashi to obtain the Midnight Child, clocking in dull paperwork about anything and everything concerning the Midnight Child, it's more than apparent that he needs this person for his own good.

This does not necessarily inconvenience Akashi. If Mayuzumi turns against him once he has what he needs, he's sure to deploy other members of his team to _off_ Mayuzumi. Besides, the rumours surrounding the Midnight Child sounds convincing, what more when he's witnessed everyone bidding extravagantly for such a person.

If the Midnight Child is truly what he's rumoured to be, it's a worthwhile investment for Akashi's part. Losing is not in his plans.

No matter, Akashi supposes he'll wheedle out Mayuzumi's baseless worrying once they obtain the Midnight Child in their care. The night is still long, after all.

Somewhere down the narrow hallway hanging with pendaflour lights, a heavy steel door creaks open. The both of them turned to look at one another, assessing the situation, then at the door. No head pops out to look at them, but only a lilting voice welcomed their arrival. The lilting voice of the Host.

"Please come in, gentlemen, your package is ready."

 

 

**THE MIDNIGHT CHILD** isn't really a child, per se. As they've witnessed prior to his bidding, he has none of that prepubescent belly whatsoever. A properly developed cock, lanky arms, bony knees, taut thighs—he's a full-fledged _man,_ not a child. While it was true that the spotlights stripped him down to his bare essences, highlighting the keys of his girlish ribcage and the waifish curve of his hips, his protruding hipbones and slender neck, he was first and foremost undoubtedly a man.

A _man._

The Host thought otherwise. He was all shrugs and guilty eyes with a bit of a red nose, thanks to Mayuzumi's briefcase-throwing scene. "He'll be good at the prostitution's palace, if you ask me. Lots of our kind swing that way. They go for the ones with the big eyes."

"No way." Mayuzumi balks. There he is again, gritting his teeth and bunching his fists. "Are you kidding me? Using him for sex?"

"That's a waste of his talent, he's not meant to be used that way," Akashi replies in a thoughtful manner, his eyes taking it in.

_It_ being the Host's sense of humour, sending the Midnight Child out in what they previously saw him in: Nothing. Yet he stood unashamed of his nudity, hands making no haste to cover his genitals. He acted as though his existence isn't part of their discussion at the moment. All he ever does is to stand there and watch their rapid exchange of words, head flicking left right up down to follow each speaker's movements.

"Well—that man you nearly fought with," the Host spoke with a scandalised tone this time, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated jig of his head, "he threw a tantrum when we escorted him out. Threatened to wipe out our next Black Auctions, can you believe it? Who does he think he is?"

"The world's leading expert in human trafficking, that's who." Mayuzumi drops his cigarette and snuffs it out by stomping on it. It smears ash grey under his shoes, the very greys of his eyes. "He talks big but he's nothing. That's expected of him, Trash Gold Jr."

Having nothing to offer, Akashi keeps to himself and lets Mayuzumi handle this incessant blathering. After all, he doesn't keep companies that associate themselves with someone as unremarkable as Nash. It's enough proof that he is of no importance to Akashi if he's never had to cross paths with the man in his entire lifetime. Because, really, _everyone_ knows Akashi even if they don't want to. That's a fact.

Imagine his surprise when he sees the first signs of the Midnight Child's interest in the conversation when he snaps his head parallel to Mayuzumi's direction.

"You're wrong. Nash-san is a formidable man. He has many people working undercover in all sorts of families. I'm not surprised if he starts to come after you next." His words come in rapid sequences like someone's preinstalled a database inside him. Once he's finished giving Mayuzumi a barrage of lecture, he focuses his attention on Akashi. "We should be careful, Akashi-san. Now that you bought me, we'll face tough times ahead."

How did he—?

The Host doesn't know how to react. Neither does Akashi.

Did he even introduce himself before?

Only Mayuzumi wills himself to move away from his spot, footsteps falling heavily on the cement floor. He reaches out a hand—Akashi only hopes he doesn't punch the 1.2 billion Yen man because he's certainly worth more than Mayuzumi's salary—with a loosely curled fist. It gradually unfurls into outstretching fingers that brush with the tips of the Midnight Child's straggly hair.

And _ah_ , the man doesn't look displeased at the contact at all.

The brightening of his expression, the flush on his cheeks. The quiver of his lips and the fondness in his eyes.

"It's good to see you again, Mayu-nii."

 

 

**"... REPEAT YOURSELF, NOW."**

He spent 1.2 billion Yen to obtain the much-rumoured Midnight Child, whose stealthy skill rivalling a shadow has garnered interest worldwide. _Morbid_ interest. He spent 1.2 billion Yen to make the Midnight Child work for him like the rest of his underlings have. He spent _1.2 billion Yen_ to make him carry out certain delivery cases that he's sure none of his specialised team could handle.

And he did _not_ just spend 1.2 billion Yen to reunite Mayuzumi with his long-lost sibling like some reality TV's charity show.

The pale lighting in the limousine chauffeuring them back home doesn't hide the mixed expressions crossing their faces. Akashi could not blame the Midnight Child for his confusion, what with his furrowed brows and alternating gazes between him and his purported brother. He just came out from a birdcage, after all.

But Mayuzumi, _Mayuzumi_ needs to explain some few delicate circumstances to Akashi, even if it involves some soap opera quality drama.

"It's like this." Mayuzumi's steely eyes gaze unflinchingly into Akashi's, hands clasped together on his lap, winding tight until his protruding veins are a messy network all over his arms. "Whatever you've heard about his skills, they're real. He'll be useful to you in the long run even if he doesn't look like much."

"You're being rather rude," the other man pipes up—

—only to get swatted on the head by Mayuzumi. "Don't interrupt me when I'm talking, Tetsuya."

The Midnight Child—Tetsuya? Mayuzumi Tetsuya?—easily bats the offending hand away with mild vexation. "It's been ten years since then, Mayu-nii, you should stop hitting me. This is domestic violence."

"I'll stop hitting you when you stop being annoying."

This back-and-forth bantering like some slapstick comedy would have appeared amusing to some, but it's poor entertainment to Akashi. Because, really, he's the one who spent 1.2 billion on a man and he's not even halfway convinced that he didn't do it out of pure sympathy to reunite long lost siblings. Even if it's just 1.2 billion, it's still money. _His_ money.

"If you don't explain to me why, I'll deduct the 1.2 billion from your future salary in the years to come," Akashi says smoothly, pursing his lips. "That means you'll be working for free for the rest of your life."

That puts Mayuzumi right on track. "As I was saying before this runt interrupted me—"

"—I'm not a runt, I have guns." He puts up his arms in a signature weightlifter's style, straining hard to make his muscles pop out. Obviously, nothing came out. Only a few drops of sweat are the proof of his exertion of strength. "Look. I can take you out with this. Please don't underestimate my strength."

Akashi isn't even sure of what 'Tetsuya' wants to prove to him, or whether all of this is just one horribly executed joke, which is poor in taste and certainly lacking in design. "Please resume, Mayuzumi-san."

" _As_ I was saying," Mayuzumi huffs, ignoring the shameful display Tetsuya has to offer, "Tetsuya's worth it. He'll do his job once you ask him to. No, this doesn't have anything to do about us being related to each other." He pauses, catches the wary look Akashi gives him, and shrugs. "We're not blood-related. We just came from the same place."

"So you are his brother just because you are older, relatively speaking," Akashi aptly surmises from the barebones of details Mayuzumi fleshed out. "I see... so it's just a matter of respect then." He peers closely at Tetsuya, noting how exceedingly unremarkable he is, just like his affectionately nicknamed 'Mayu-nii'. "The resemblance is there somehow, if I squint and ignore his price tag. So why were you called the Midnight Child?"

_Because I only strike at midnight_ is the clichéd answer he expects to receive after all the mucking they’ve done with him, but Tetsuya's stoic face doesn't seem like he's in the mood to joke around. The headlights from other passing cars flicker on and off his face, lending a strangely unstable look on his face. Someone baby-faced like him, what with his cushion-like cheeks and cherub lips, never matched the average profile of a ruthless serial killer—so what made him so lethal in the first place? What made him so sought-after by Black Bidders earlier?

Akashi had only expected Tetsuya to provide him with answers, but this time around, it was Mayuzumi who took charge. "Actually, he comes in a pair."

“A pair?” Akashi’s eyebrow rose sharply at the newfound information, snapping his attention to Mayuzumi. Of course, if Mayuzumi were to elaborate that they now have to resume their manhunt for this other mysterious ‘pair’ for this ‘Tetsuya’ with another exorbitant price tag of 1.2 billion, Akashi would terminate his contract on the spot with a gun to his throat. “Explain yourself in precisely ten words. Now.”

For once, Mayuzumi appears amused at Akashi’s severe command as though he enjoyed terrorising Akashi like this. What should Akashi expect from an asshole anyway? Crossing his legs, Mayuzumi leans back into his seat in the limousine like it’s his car and allows himself to match the barely perceptible smile on Tetsuya’s lips.

"The other half of the Midnight Child is me,” he says. “We're the Midnight Children."

**Author's Note:**

> Taiko I hate u 
> 
> NO JKJK I LOVE YOU V V MUCH /drapes self over Taiko
> 
> What is this fic even about I don't even know but u know where it came from. It’s basically probably something like mobster Akashi and his team on the hunt for the very best—which is Kuroko, but then Kuroko comes in a pair with Mayuzumi, and that never means anything good. This fic tho. Nash Gold Jr. tho. /side eyes Taiko 
> 
> _Will it end in a threesome?_ (who knows)


End file.
